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A while back, we looked at a few very bad silent films, as “recommended” from some brutal reviews in Photoplay. Since there’s always perverse fun in watching some cinematic garbage, it’s time to check out a few more of these supposed bad silent films. This time, we’re even including an early talkie, since the Photoplay review is too good to resist. Remember kids, only a professional can get through films this bad. Don’t try this at home.

The Love Light (1921)

The Photoplay review:

There is something decidedly wrong about a Mary Pickford picture when the best thing you remember about it is a caption entitled “stewed chicken” followed by an action scene in which an inquisitive hen, drinking wine from an overturned cask, is seen to float back to its coop with that ludicrous uncertainty of movement associated with the modern gentleman full of the neighbors’ brew. Yet that is about all I recall of The Love Light.

It’s surprising that the drunk chicken is all the reviewer remembers of The Love Light, although they can’t be blamed for forgetting everything that happens in the film. For while the film starts out looking like a light Mary Pickford comedy, it transforms into a constant pitfall of absurd tragedies. Let’s lay out all the things that happens to Pickford in the film: she takes in a deserter from the war, trusting his story of being an American. He’s actually a German spy, and in sending him an “I love you” message from her lighthouse, accidentally sends out a message that leads to her brother being killed. The German spy husband falls off a cliff, after which she has a child from him. She loses her child after nuns take them away from her. And when her kidnapped child is stranded at sea, she must light her house on fire for the boat to see land. Oh, and her other brother goes blind in the war.

Got all that?

I sure hope so, because that takes place in about 40 minutes or so. It becomes comically absurd how many times Pickford throws her head back and screams into the void. Not to mention that the whole problem started because she somehow got fooled into thinking a German spy actually sounded like an American. Given everything else that happens to her, it’s a miracle that she didn’t accidentally set herself on fire while setting the house ablaze. Overall, The Love Light is such a poor vehicle for Mary Pickford, who loses all her charm in a sea of absurd tragedy.

The Claw (1927)

The Photoplay review:

Evidently this was produced just to make the contract players earn their salaries. We still have the wealthy papas endeavoring to make great big he-men out of their sons. To Africa they are set for rejuvenation. And between cannibals and jungle animals the hero wins out.

In fairness, The Claw really isn’t all that bad. It’s just not very good either. A decidedly minor effort, it’s a mostly forgettable romp with plot elements so obvious they could be seen from space. Claire Windsor plays a woman bored by her supposed wimp husband (Maurice Stair), while she crushes on a brave explorer and Major (Arthur Edmund Carewe). But to the surprise of no one, her husband proves to be the real brave one while on a dangerous African expedition.

The film does contain one interesting wrinkle that is unfortunately never fully followed up on. Carewe is harboring a secret wife and child, which should have at least set up some over-the-top melodrama. Instead, it barely becomes a factor in the rest of the film. At under an hour, the film just keeps cranking along with no real depth.

Don’t look for much excitement in the jungle scenes. Like everything else in the film, it’s perfunctory and rushed. Don’t look for much with The Claw, the cinematic equivalent to one of those ambient noise machines.

Riders of the Purple Sage (1925)

The Photoplay review:

We were looking forward to this latest Tom Mix vehicle, but for some reason or other we were disappointed. Perhaps we expected too much. The popular novel by Zane Grey had plenty of action but not so much with the picture. Of course Tom can always be relied upon to prove himself the hero and save a young lady, who in this case happens to own a ranch and is robbed by rustlers. Fine photography.

Photoplay has it about right. Tom Mix was always an ideal western star, and his presence and personality does help this adaptation of Riders of the Purple Sage quite a bit. And it is indeed well directed with some great stunts as well. As for the content of the film and how compelling it is? Well, that’s a whole different problem.

One intertitle sums up the whole problem with the film. It notes that Mix has “outwitted them at every turn.” That point couldn’t have been any clearer if he was wearing a Harlem Globetrotters jersey. There just isn’t much drama and suspense, as Mix disposes of all adversity in practically the blink of an eye. Don’t look away, or you could miss him disposing of a series of villains in seconds flat. Even Warner Oland’s final dastardly plan is introduced and disposed of quicker than a hiccup. While there’s still some fun to be had, the one sided nature takes a lot of the interest out of it.

High Voltage (1929)

The Photoplay review:

A stupid, morbid movie that’s suspiciously like “The Sin Sister”–and nowhere near as good. Three blondes, a banker, a truck driver and a dick are snowed in for a week in a country church. It’s intended to scale the heights of human drama, but due to clumsy direction, it is utterly vague and ridiculous. The usual charming William Boyd smile is hidden behind a week-old beard, and anyway, Bill’s losing his girlish figure, or so it seems.

High Voltage is actually an early complete talkie, but with a “stupid, morbid” lead in, this movie just sounds so tempting. Unfortunately, High Voltage couldn’t have a more misleading title. Well, except that audiences probably feel like they’re being subjected to a real Milgram experiment while watching it.

As an early talkie with Carole Lombard and William Boyd, it could actually have a lot going for it. Instead, the film only presents just over an hour of some of the dullest and most lifeless dialogue ever put on screen. Trapped on a bus and a church, these characters just spout trite dialogue endlessly. It somehow feels to go on much longer than the short run time, more like the length of time it took for continental drift to complete. Only recommended if you’re looking to torture someone.

As you can no doubt tell, this post won’t have anything to do with classic films. Back when my father passed away in April, I wrote a brief post about his own film fandom. That, of course, was a wholly inadequate look at the man himself. So on the date of his birth, we’ll part aside films for a moment to tell a little bit about his story.

Tell his story is no easy task. To define my dad by his career, he would have first mentioned his over thirty years working at the airport. One of his greatest thrills in life was to guide back the airplanes. But even that is an incomplete portrait of his career, since he usually worked two or three jobs at one time, ranging at various points from unloading trucks to being a bartender (intoxication engineer, he called it). He was also incredibly proud to have served in the 101st Airborne Division of the US Army.

And as for stories about his life, well, that could take a long time to. He loved to tell colorful stories of his life, seemingly movie-like tales like trying to hitchhike across the country and nearly getting run over by a boat somewhere in Martha’s Vineyard. I’ve committed some of these to writing, and will do more of that later. But for now, we’ll keep things a little briefer.

My dad can probably best be understood through two things: his relationship with my mother, and how he handled his illness in his final years. To know these things is to know a lot about him and his character. So please, indulge me for a moment as I tell a little bit about Daniel M. Bliss.

~ ~

Of all my dad’s stories, none can match the love story of Daniel and Janet. It began a way that sounds almost too far-fetched, too fictional. But every bit of it is true. To my dad, Janet was truly the girl next door, since they were neighbors. Their families lived right across the street. My dad was close with his future father-in-law before he really even knew my mom, walking the very short distance to watch football games. Maybe that’s the key to a successful marriage: scope out the potential in-laws first. Eventually they started dating, and remained together nearly 39 years later.

Although their interests were often different, my parents’ marriage thrived on one thing more than anything else: talking. When still living separately with their parents, they would stay in the kitchen talking until all hours of the night, using the stove as a feeble light once all were asleep. (Don’t try that at home, kids. Just use your cell phones for illumination.)

Talking for hours was not always an option during my dad’s illness. He often couldn’t stay up very late, feeling tired, fatigued or in pain. But they did have one more night together like that, just weeks before he passed.

The day before, we had all gotten the bad news. Chemo just wasn’t an option any longer, as my dad wouldn’t be able to handle it any longer. Things were too severe and his pain was too much. All that was left was to wait. He was given heavy pain medication, a hope to make him more comfortable at home. Lately the pain had become so bad he could hardly move.

The next day, my brother and I went as planned to a baseball game. When we stopped at the house after, sometime after 10pm, we expected to go upstairs and see dad, where hopefully he was now feeling able enough to still be up, watching a movie. Much to our surprise, he was still in his chair in the living room, talking to my mom. “We wanted to wait up for you guys,” he said.

In the three years of his illness, my dad had rarely been like this. Even on his good days, he still usually found himself too fatigued at the end of the day. But thanks to the medication pushing all of that pain to the back burner, he was more like himself again. He didn’t feel any pain. And the whole time we were gone, the two of them had talked, just like the old days. In all the shock and sadness of the previous days and weeks, my parents were so happy that night. For one final time, they were just the same as they were 39 years ago.

Only months before his death, my dad told me a story I’d never heard before, one of something he did when he became very serious about my mom, when he knew she was the one. He wanted to surprise her with something, a bit of a cute gesture. And he had just the right idea.

At a local saloon sat a jukebox. My dad knew of an old song in there that he badly wanted to give my mom. How he knew about it, I don’t know. By this time it would have had to be over a decade old, and the song charted at #125. But boy, was it ever a fitting song to give my mom: “Just Across the Street” by the Del-Rios.

I’d sit and I’d watch from my window

Just wondering about a true love I’d some day meet

But I never thought the one I’d love

Lived just across the street

First, he offered the owner what the cost of a 45” would have cost then, and the owner wasn’t interested. The haggling continued, but the owner still wouldn’t budge. With no options left, my dad made an announcement.

“I’m going to leave $20 and I’m taking it.”

And so he did. It wasn’t the best financial decision, but sometimes other things are more important.

And now you are mine and I’m so happy

I feel I’ve got the world at my feet

And I thank the stars for sending me along

Just across the street

Yes, I have found my love

Just across the street

~ ~

It goes without saying that the three years of my dad’s illness were not easy. The tough moments or days were too many to name, but the good and special moments far outweighed them. We all knew how tough, resilient and courageous he was, but it was more apparent than ever in those three years. Those moments are the ones worth focusing on, and the ones to learn from.

After he starting chemo, my dad was determined to still work at his very physically demanding job. And he did: with the fanny pack that fed the chemo into his chest still attached to him. The idea of chemo possibly spilling all over him and his coworkers was more than a little alarming, but luckily biohazard was never called in. Only when he encountered a debilitating exploratory surgery a couple months in did he stop working. And even then, he still thought and hoped he would get back one day. It was over two years later when he officially retired with a heavy heart.

There was something else going on in those first few months too, the time before his big emergency surgery. As he trudged through lots of chemo and doctors meetings, he assured us that the cancer hadn’t spread, that it was isolated in the one spot. “We just have to be prepared for in case it does spread.”

But it already had. Just before the surgery a couple months later, we found out that it was stage four cancer, and had been the entire time he’d been diagnosed. My dad protected us from it, at least for a little while, not wanting to drop that news on us. All the while, he’d carried that weight alone. That he kept this information from us originally was never brought up to him, and he never spoke of it. There was no reason to. We already knew the reason why.

The surgery altered his life forever and ravaged him. Gaunt and under a hundred pounds, his doctor later revealed she only gave him two to three weeks to live. But of course, that wasn’t the end of the story in 2014. We were lucky enough to have a lot more time.

The road to recovery was long, arduous and seemed never ending. He still could hardly eat and being constantly dehydrated, he never sounded like himself. Slowly, changes started to happen. As he became able to eat again and get his voice back, his world opened up and he was finally able to live again.

And live he did. Every meal became a joy. He found a new favorite restaurant with a new favorite dish. He paid off the mortgage on the house, holding a cookout to celebrate (and many more after that). He mowed the lawn, walked the dog, painted inside the house. He bought a convertible (complete with fuzzy dice). He went on drives often, sometimes with my mom, and sometimes alone. He watched movies all the time, having discovered Netflix. He attended a final college football game, one of his most beloved activities. He saw one of his sons get married. He lived.

When faced with constant adversity, more medical complications to name and insurmountable odds, he lived. He found a way to live again and squeeze as much enjoyment out of life as he could. That’s a measure of perseverance and strength I’ll never forget.

This belief that you can fight through anything was most clearly shown to us then, but he always told us about it too. My dad always reminded us of what he’d been told back as a member of the 101st Airborne Division. I would be facing some obstacle that worried me, and he would always say “remember, you’re a member of the 101st. And what’s our motto?”

“We have a rendezvous with destiny,” I’d reply.

And then the day came when the roles were reversed.

It was probably some time in 2015. The first chemo he’d been on was no longer working, and it was time to switch to something else. This second chemo would cause him to lose his hair, although it would come back during later treatments. In a moment of raw vulnerability my dad didn’t often show, it became clear he was very worried about handling a new and possibly grueling type of chemo. I thought I knew just the thing to make things better.

“You’ll be okay,” I said. “Remember, you’re a member of the 101st.”

He rose to his feet, assuming a very proud and official stance. He saluted and said the familiar phrase, but then he added something that he’d never told me before. The way he explained it, whenever faced with a great form of adversity, they would all shout “airborne!” as a sign of strength and encouragement, that they could get through anything.

“Airborne!” he said and returned back into his chair.

Throughout my life, my dad was always trying to teach lessons to my brother, from the big things to the small things. Sometimes it was just a reminder of what his dad warned him about football games, and how the real game starts in the fourth quarter. Sometimes it was a reminder of the quote “time waits for no man” as a reminder to not put off your tough situations, to just get them over with. But he taught me his most valuable lessons in those last few years, even if he didn’t know he was doing it.

Faced with constant adversity, uncertainty and his own mortality, my dad never wavered. He continued to live every day as fully as he could. And he always put on his bravest face, ready to face and confront whatever waited him next. In seeing that, my dad passed along the most important lesson of all: that I can match his courage and face anything that confronts me. If he could do that, then I can too. And I’ll always be okay.

Rejoice, silent film fans! It’s always good news when a nice, restored version of a silent film is released on DVD or blu-ray. The last couple of months have been a high water mark for big releases, with three films getting high quality releases from people who do silent films right. So here they, are a look at all three recent releases: The Lodger, When Knighthood was in Flower and Zaza.

The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog (Criterion Collection)

The Lodger was already readily available on DVD and online, but any film getting the Criterion treatment is welcoming news. That’s especially true for such a notable film, one that is usually called the first true Alfred Hitchcock film. And in many ways, that’s dead on accurate. Packed with suspense, the potential for a wrong man scenario is at the heart of it, along with a cool blonde (and an obsession with blondes) at the center. Many of Hitchcock’s early films are atypical in plot, but The Lodger feels very much in his wheelhouse.

And it’s also a little unique for him too. Hitch usually did not delve into actual murder mysteries–his suspense typically relies on knowledge the audience has, rather than through mystery. This is very effective here, though, and it still provides plenty of suspense even if the viewer already knows the outcome. Look for some unique ways of adding suspense in a silent film, like an overhead shot Ivor Novello (the lodger) pacing in his room above.

Novello, a romantic leading man of the time, plays a difficult role well. On the one hand, his romance with Daisy (played by June Tripp) is sweet. And yet, there’s always a big air of suspicion around him, thanks to some mysterious elements of his character.

The Lodger has been extraordinarily well preserved and the Criterion version is one of the crispest you’ll ever see of a silent film. The disc also contains another 1927 Hitchcock feature, Downhill. It, too, is of almost pristine quality. This is a flawless release of an essential film.

When Knighthood was in Flower (Undercrank Productions)

Unlike The Lodger, it’s been close to a hundred years since When Knighthood was in Flower has been widely seen. Now from the Library of Congress and Ben Model, this Marion Davies blockbuster can be seen again. And boy, is it ever worth it.

A big hit that helped establish Davies as a star, Knighthood is very big indeed. Playing a princess and sister to Henry VIII, Davies is in love with a commoner but must marry an elderly king. The production is a lavish one to behold, with massive set pieces throughout and exquisite costumes. The film itself is just as good. Often as funny as it is dramatic, Davies runs wild the whole film, bursting with personality no matter the situation. With this commanding performance, it’s no surprise this film was big for her career.

Another pristine print, the film is helped visually by well placed hand-tinting at the climax. As usual, Ben Model supplies the perfect fitting score. The film has not yet been released, but it can be purchased beginning on July 25th here.

Zaza (Kino Lorber)

Speaking of running wild, Zaza is the Gloria Swanson show and she goes full throttle the entire time. A charismatic showgirl, Zaza is determined to be with a debonair diplomat (H.B. Warner), although it proves to be harder than she ever realized. Whether on stage commanding a crowd or suffering a setback in her romance, Swanson plays it over the top to the point of it being highly comical. Only at the film’s climax do we get any real signs of sentimentality.

Over the top and comical is the order of the day for much of the film, down to the costuming. Swanson is constantly clad in elaborate outfits marked with a giant Z, at one point even wearing jewelry throughout her hair. The film’s high point in comedy is also it’s peak of wackiness: Swanson and Mary Thurman engage in a wild brawl that involves their clothes being ripped off.

Zaza won’t ever be confused as high quality dramatic entertainment. But as funny, goofy cinema it hits just the right spot. This print also survives very well, and is well accompanied with music from the original music cues.

In our last post, we talked about how the soap operas are kindred spirits with and have a connection to precode films. That’s not the soap opera’s only connection to classic cinema, though. One more important connection must be made: that to the silent film serials.

Long underappreciated in film history, the silent film serial not only made big business for the movie industry, but created many of the dramatic and soap opera tropes we are all familiar with now. Packed with melodrama, scheming villains and cliffhangers, the line from the serials to the soaps is clear. Even when the genres don’t quite match up, the material under the hood still remains the same.

The first American serial, What Happened to Mary? was even compared to a soap opera by Ed Hulse in the seminal book Distressed Damsels and Masked Marauders. And it does indeed sound just like a soap:

Popular screen ingenue Mary Fuller took the title role of naive country girl Mary Dangerfield, whose greedy uncle (played by Charles Ogle) keeps her from the knowledge that she is an heiress. Upon turning 18, a defiant Mary leaves home and flees to the big city, where she has numerous adventures–and close calls–while making her way in the world. Although the situations in What Happened to Mary? smacked of what would later be called “soap operas,” they gradually shifted emphasis as the series progressed.

This series had more in common with soap operas than just melodrama and a similar type of storyline. It was also the first signs of the audience loyalty that are vital to soap operas. Mary’s character was so popular that it appeared in another soapy series, Who Will Mary Marry?, in which several suitors turned rivals vie for the hand of Mary in marriage. That audiences wanted more and more of Mary Dangerfield was a big deal, and it may be the most important aspect of soap operas. Soaps thrive on the loyalty of the audience, creating characters that the audience comes to know and love like family over time.

The Mary series started this trend. Pearl White, the queen of serials, took it to a different level.

White had her breakthrough part in serials with the smash success of The Perils of Pauline. While the series was more adventure than anything else, White did establish a strong female character not unlike what one would find in soaps and precodes. There she played a well-to-do woman who is an aspiring author.

What Pearl White did after The Perils of Pauline is one of the strongest examples of audience loyalty to be found outside of soap operas. What followed was a series of three serials that ran so continuously, it seemed more like one long series instead of sequels. White played Elaine Dodge in The Exploits of Elaine, The New Exploits of Elaine and The Romance of Elaine, alongside her lover Craig Kennedy. With audiences so attached to the two main characters, the series just had to keep on going, with plenty of melodrama along the way. By the end of New Exploits, it appears that Kennedy may be dead, but Elaine is determined to find him alive in Romance. It’s no wonder that White became known as the queen of serials. She brought a loyalty and familiarity that is the lifeblood of both serials and soap operas.

And that wasn’t even the longest running of all the serials. The Hazards of Helen far surpassed anything White ever made as far as length, running a grand total of 119 episodes. It’s sometimes not considered a true serial due to usually having standalone episodes, but that audiences became attached to the main character and loved her adventures cannot be denied. The series lasted so long that the main character was even played by two different actresses.

Yes, silent serials even dealt with the soap opera problem of actors leaving parts. The Hazards of Helen change looms large, but a big one appeared in The Romance of Elaine as well. Lionel Barrymore (who also appeared in the previous series), did not last until the end of series as the lead villain. He was replaced by Warner Oland, who went on to become a big name serial villain. Jumping periods of time and rapidly aging, a common joke about soap operas, can even be found in silent serials. Between the first and second episode of Neal of the Navy’s, eighteen years pass.

At its core, the silent film serial looked to achieve the same goals as the soap opera. They are both contingent on building audience loyalty and love of the characters over a long period of time. Along the way, they also seek to keep the audience coming back through melodrama and cliffhangers that leave them begging for more. And when that is achieved, both serials and soaps are as compelling as entertainment can be.

When Dynasty is revived later this year on the CW Network, it will become one of the rarest of all American TV programs: the soap opera. And while prime time weekly soaps like Dynasty do still pop up, the daytime soap continues to barrel towards outright extinction. Only four daytime soaps still exist on American television, and their long term future remains questionable. Those few soaps that remain can’t match the splendor of power of soaps at their peak, when the shows were big massive events that shot around the world for fun opulent escapes. The decline of the soap opera is bad for a number of reasons, including the death of one of the most effective forms of serialized drama. It’s also a bad turn of events for the classic film fan, since soaps have always been a descendent and close relative of the precode era of film.

The most obvious connection to old Hollywood in general is the fashion. The looks of these rich, larger than life characters call back to the fabulous gowns and tuxedos associated with Hollywood glitz and glamour. Although much more recent than the classic films we associate larger-than-life style to, the style of these soaps still evoke that elegance that is mesmerizing to watch. But the soaps connection to precodes goes well beyond that.

On the whole, soap operas are the most fun when portraying over the top (and often absurd) melodrama. The crazier it gets, the better, and the scenarios can plunge to crazy depths. This heightened sense of melodrama is so in tune with precodes that is a wonder soaps just didn’t directly copy the storylines. The celebrated precode Three on a Match contains enough material to cover months on a soap opera, including affairs, kidnapping and gangsters. Blonde Venus rivals any soap for pure melodrama, Marlene Dietrich suffering through so many travails that even Victor Newman might feel sympathy for her.

The character types and tropes are also incredibly similar. Both precodes and soaps are littered with utterly amoral characters: people always putting their self preservation first, no matter what the cost to others around them. In some cases, we’re even found rooting for these people of shaky morals, hoping that they’ll get away with their actions. And in these shows and films, there’s always a chance that they will.

Because of these amoral characters, there’s always scandalous and shocking behavior to be found in both. Affairs, scandal babies, blatant crimes and various sexual improprieties are always occurring, often without consequence. Employees’ Entrance is the perfect combination of amoral characters and actions, featuring a cutthroat and reprehensible boss you can find in almost any soap.

And finally, the importance of strong women in both cannot be overstated. The most progressive films of old Hollywood can be found in precodes, films in which female characters are more powerful and complex than they would be for decades to come. With the powers of their job, personality or physical allure at their disposal, characters like Barbara Stanwyck in Baby Face are of the same cloth of leading soap actress: able to change things and get one over by any means necessary. Norma Shearer’s turn in The Divorcee as a woman scorned should remind viewers of Augusta Lockridge in the soap Santa Barbara: a woman who can give as well as she takes.

Characters like those in Man Wanted (Kay Francis) and Female (Ruth Chatterton) are executives and bosses, running well oiled machines. They are fully prepared for everything and are in control, whether it being professionally or personally. Seeing these characters evokes the legendary Dynasty character Alexis, played by Joan Collins. The head of a company, she’s always a step ahead whenever in business or at home. Chatterton, Francis and others played the precursors to such a character. If Alexis Colby were dropped into a precode film, she’d fit right in–and she’d be running wild.

Overall, the precode and soap opera offer the same kind of programming: wild and unpredictable. These are worlds where anything can happen, and usually does. Nothing is too over the top or too scandalous. With characters of little or no morals, they’re willing to do anything at all. And if they do, they just might get away with it. What can happen next unknown, but it will always get crazier.

And that’s precisely what makes both precodes and soap operas so fun. It’s a great escape to a different and even crazier world. And that’s why they’re both similar and invaluable.

I should consider myself lucky. Most budding Old Movie Weirdos don’t have as an ideal of an upbringing as I did. Yes, I grew up with a family where my grandmother could alert me that The Big Clock was about to come on; a family where if my brother came home at midnight and saw me watching Anatomy of a Murder, he’d get hooked and finish watching the film with me.

And there was no greater film fan than my father. From the very beginning to the very end, films were such a joy to him.

When he was a child, he would spend entire days just watching whatever was showing in the theaters. The love of going to the movies never stopped, just as his love of films in general never stopped. To him, there was no greater invention than the portable DVD player. This always amazed him as a marvel, and when he was done working his two jobs for the day he always put a film on at the kitchen table. I highly doubt my collection of DVDs could ever surpass the cornucopia he amassed over the years.

After my father became sick in 2014, we enjoyed more films together than we ever had. No longer was it such a singular type of viewing for him. Sitting around watching TCM, it was something we experienced together often (that, and plenty of Seinfeld episodes).

Our tastes in film never totally gelled–he adored westerns more than I ever could, and I never had a chance of getting him to watch a silent film. But more often than not, our tastes overlapped. There was nothing he loved more than a Woody Allen comedy or an Alfred Hitchcock film (Dial M for Murder and The Birds are two of the last films we watched together).

And he was always, especially in these last years, eager to share a film or film moment he loved. The calls to gather around for a favorite scene of a film were common. He was especially eager to show George C. Scott’s version of A Christmas Carol. Never someone to cry often, that performance got him every time.

My father passed away on April 22, 2017. In the time to come, I know I’ll find solace in the same way he did: in front of a good film. And when Christmas comes around, add George C. Scott’s A Christmas Carol to your viewing rotation. It comes highly recommended from a man who would know.

With most silent films gone, film viewers today are always looking through a limited prism. Precious few have survived, and even fewer have been properly preserved and restored. As such, we’re most often exposed to the best silent films there are to offer, the true classics. There’s not a treasure trove of awful, bottom of the barrel silent films out there now. But they existed, of course. There were bad films then as there are now. We just haven’t seen most of the truly bad ones.

Let’s change that. Let’s see what some of the worst of the worst may have looked like.

Options are limited, but there’s still some choices out there. Old Photoplay magazines are ripe with brief, blistering reviews that tear apparent awful films to pieces.

Very few people probably saw Combat after that. Unfortunately, a large number of the dozens of films Photoplay reviewed every issue are not available now. There are, though, some lambasted films that are available to torture yourself with. How bad are these films? Let’s find out, fellow film masochists.

Raffles (1925)

The Photoplay review:

Crook stories usually keep one on the jump. But this one doesn’t, due to the draggy direction. House Peters as Raffles, the amateur cracksman, moves around so slowly that at times you just feel like crowning him. And then to make matters worse they cast Miss DuPont, who is utterly colorless, as the lady in the case. Nothing worth while.

Raffles is one of those plots that has been adapted over and over. Based on a popular story series of the time, seven different film versions were made between 1905 and 1939. And it is indeed a solid basis for a story. The title character is an elusive thief, stealing jewelry in cunning ways and then usually sneaking back the items later. He seems to be interested only the intellectual value of the steal itself, and getting the reward money donated to his favorite charity.

This would all be very entertaining, if not for how dense the people are that Raffles is swindling. Raffles is supposed to be relying on his superior intellect to pull off these heists, but anyone with a pulse could rob these people blind. The charm is taken out when it’s blatantly obvious exactly how Raffles will pull everything off.

Making matters worse, the film moves along at a glacial pace, taking forever to get to the obvious conclusion. A film that clocks in at under an hour is in big trouble when there’s still signs of dragging. Even with plenty of time to spare, the romance between Raffles (House Peters) and Gwendolyn (Miss DuPont) is half-hearted, the two never showing any kind of chemistry whatsoever. There is simply nothing to get interested in or attached to with Raffles.﻿

The First Auto (1927)

The Photoplay review:

In entertainment this can be compared with the first auto–missing on all sixes. The entire piece is slow moving and very tiresome. Of course it is interesting to see the first “boilers” that graded the highway–but that couldn’t make a picture.

The poster for The First Auto may say “a medley of laughs and tears,” but it only produces one of those. For a film that is allegedly at least a a partial comedy, The First Auto is a shockingly dire and depressing melodrama. Animals, humans and property are all either killed, nearly killed or destroyed throughout the film. All the while, many characters are constantly hurting due to the barrage of catastrophes and cars throwing everything asunder. Even the Marquis de Sade would find this too much to handle.

The First Auto is well made, but it is just wholly unpleasant to watch. The changes cars brought could be a compelling story, but not when it’s told in a heavy handed manner that hits you with absurd calamities so often. That just makes for a tough viewing experience that is a chore to get through.

The film does contain some early sound usage, but the use is so limited as to not be worthwhile. Aside from a couple utterances of “Bob!” nothing else is done with it. The cool looking cars certainly don’t make up for the dark contents. Only recommended if you feel way too happy and need to change that.

Lorraine of the Lions (1925)

The Photoplay review:

When a ship goes down and everyone but a helpless little girl is drowned–you can imagine the rest. Lorraine lives alone on an island from twelve years, the idol of the jungle beasts. (No, it’s not evolution propaganda.) As if that weren’t too much to believe, some occult power leads her rich grandfather to her, he in turn leading Norman Kerry to capture her heart. Talk about the long arm of coincidence making this kind of double play! Now I ask.

The review above captures a lot of the absurdities of Lorraine of the Lions, and yet it somehow doesn’t capture all of them. There’s so much going on that is utterly ridiculous, things the viewer is supposed to take with a straight face. Within the first minutes, we’re casually alerted to the fact that Lorraine’s family is part of the circus. Even more amazing, Lorraine is an animal trainer at around the age of ten. It only gets wackier from there.

Lorraine of the Lions would fit right in during a cheesy b-movie double feature. Lorraine’s time in the jungle is a low rent attempt at Tarzan that always looks just awful. Her main pal in the jungle is a “gorilla,” clowning around in a kitschy suit, doing some bad slapstick.﻿

While it all sounds very campy and goofy, too many other apspects are too dull to be fun. Yes, there’s a master of the occult, but you’d sooner think he’s an accountant than a master of black magic. Lorraine of the Lions is bad, and it’s too half-baked to be entertainingly bad.

Tarzan and the Golden Lion (1927)

In this case, both the original full length Photoplay review and the shorter one are brutal enough to share:

This wins the hand embroidered toothpick as being the worst picture of the month. The former Tarzan series were enjoyable. But this is filled with such improbabilities that it becomes ridiculous. It is an insult to the human intelligence to expect anyone to sit through this. Need more to be said?

—

The original “Tarzan” stories were good. This is one of the biggest pieces of nonsense ever fed to a suffering camera.

As a story, Tarzan and the Golden Lion is more paint-by-the-numbers than a child’s art set. Sure, there are a couple oddities here: Tarzan has a wife and sister. Overall, it’s a pedestrian and predictable story. His sister gets kidnapped, but of course Tarzan’s animal friends help save the day.

The film is not quite as bad as Photoplay makes it out to be. There’s a couple neat set pieces and the action scenes are mildly amusing. Well, at least they are until the repetition sets in. Tarzan and the Golden Lion doesn’t have a lot to offer, and you’ll get tired of what it does have.

The film’s biggest flaw lies with the man playing Tarzan, James Pierce. There is not a thing right about his look as Tarzan. Although he was only 27 at the time, Pierce is caked in so much makeup that you’d think they were trying to shield the age of an octogenarian. The only scenes where Pierce looks natural is when Tarzan is clad in a suit at dinner. He looks more like he swung on in from the wrong set, and he kind of did. Pierce was set to do Wings when Edgar Rice Burroughs (his father-in-law) convinced him to play Tarzan instead. If only he’d had a lion friend to save him from that decision.

In fact, it’s safe to say the vast majority of classic film blogs exist because of Robert Osborne and TCM. If you know someone under the age of 30 (like me) who loves classic films, Robert Osborne is the reason why.

The future was never bright for the preservation and remembrance of films. Films of yesteryear have been destroyed, discarded or left in poor condition. Important and influential film stars still remain forgotten, their impact and legacy forever faded. With this track record, the idea that millennials and octogenarians alike would be enjoying old films now sounds absurd. That exact thing has happened, thanks to Robert Osborne and TCM.

I discovered Turner Classic Movies sometime during high school, and was hooked immediately. Each month, I’d go through the full schedule and write down every film I needed to see and record. Suddenly, a treasure trove of films appeared before me, and I needed to see all of it. All the while, the genial face of the network encouraged me to explore more of my newfound love. That is what Robert Osborne did best. It wasn’t that he knew everything about the films (and he did). It was that he loved them, and was excited to share that love.

And that is precisely why I’m here, and maybe why you’re here too. It is the reason why classic films are more alive now than they ever have been. Robert Osborne’s love of film has kept those films of yesteryear alive and thriving. And his knowledge and love of film has inspired others to share that love too. It sparked a desire to write, research and watch that I continue to act on.

I should say that I didn’t have a special relationship with Robert Osborne. After all, I only knew him from TV. But in a way, I did have a special relationship with him. We all did, those of us who owe our film love to the man. That is something special.

Robert Osborne lives on not just through those introductions I still have on DVD. He lives on through every person who passes on the same love of film he gave. He lives on with every enthusiastic sharing of a film, every introduction to a classic piece of cinema. Over the years, Robert Osborne breathed new life into long forgotten stars and unheralded films. In making classic films immortal, Robert Osborne is now immortal as well.

A new year is upon us, and that means every self-respecting person is creating a best of list. This blog is always part of that too, although in a different way. No best of 2016 films will be seen (luckily for me). Instead, we’ll once again look at my ten top ten personal film discoveries of the year. As always, some of these films are obvious classics that I somehow missed before. Some, though, are ones more off the beaten path that deserve a look. They are presented in chronological order.

A Fool There Was (1915)

Just from a pure quality standpoint, the Theda Bara vehicle A Fool There Was is not the greatest film by any means. The story is plenty flimsy and the pacing leaves a lot to be desired, but none of that really matters. The scarcity of Theda Bara’s films alone make this an important and worthwhile film.

With so many silent films lost, there are some things that film fans can only read about but not experience. One of the biggest blind spots is practically all of Theda Bara’s career. An early sex symbol thanks to her vamp persona, Bara is still recognizable today thanks to striking publicity shots like this:

Those images are practically all we have now. Bara perhaps has the worst survival rate of any silent film star. All told, only three of her starring vehicles remain (she appears in another surviving film under her birth name). Of those, one is a later comeback vehicle when Bara was past her peak period. This makes A Fool There Was almost the only look we have about what he vamp character was like. Bara’s aura and presence carries the whole film. Even without much of a supporting cast to work with, Bara makes an otherwise dull film worthwhile. This may be a terribly small glimpse into one of our most unique early stars, but it sure is an important one.

A Busy Night (1916)

This Marcel Perez comedy was discussed here earlier in the year. Even though the idea of playing every role has been done elsewhere, Perez’s one man show may actually be more technically impressive than Keaton’s Playhouse. Perez’s reputation of cleverness is well born out in this film.

Three’s a Crowd (1927)

Also discussed here earlier in the year, Three’s a Crowd displays that the legend of Harry Langdon’s failure as director may be overblown. Not without its warts, Langdon’s directoral debut is an effective attempt at a comedy with some heart and pathos. Langdon creates some great visuals with a memorable set piece. Given more of a chance, maybe Langdon could have grown into a stellar comedy director.Diary of a Lost Girl (1929)

Anchored by a perfectly cast Louise Brooks and a bevy of unsavory and unpleasant character actors, Diary of a Lost Girl is melodrama at its finest. Throughout the the film, Brooks is put through horrors almost too numerous to mention, all the while making the audience ache in pain. The film boasts the kind of ugly character actors long absent from cinema, vicious and heartless. This tale of lost innocence, motherhood and the absence of love is one mighty tearjerker.

Three on a Match (1932)

Three on a Match looks, at least for a few moments, like it could be some good light hearted fare. By the time the film plunges deeper into unsavory and dark territory, you’re both surprised and pretty well hooked.

As someone who loves separate lives and stories converging, Three on a Match was right up my alley. Ann Dvorak, Joan Blondell and Bette Davis play three former classmates who reconvene and discover they are now leading very different lives. Davis doesn’t have a whole lot to do in the film, but what she does is pretty interesting. She plays the lighter role you would usually expect from Blondell (including an obligatory revealing nightgown). Dvorak is the real star here, giving one of her best performances while getting wrapped up in extramarital affairs, kidnapping and gangsters. Three on a Match fits a lot into just over and an hour, and it never lets up.

Dames (1934)

Don’t let the mass of Ruby Keeler faces scare you. Dames may be a slight notch below some other Busby Berkeley films, but it still packs in a whole lot of fun. The comedy works, and Joan Blondell and Dick Powell especially deliver. Highlights include Blondell’s “Girl at the Ironing Board” and a just lovely “I Only Have Eyes for You.” Just hope that the dancing Ruby Keeler heads won’t cause any nightmares.

The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934)

Long before creating a lavish wrong man film with Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day, Alfred Hitchcock told the same story with some major changes. And in some ways, the original version of the thriller might be the better one.

Sporting a much more tightly packed runtime, this original also has some major differences in tone. The Hitchcock British dry humor is much more prevalent, and yet it still feels a lot more serious than the remake. For one, this original boasts an intense and gripping shootout scene that is as impressive as anything else Hitchcock ever did. In addition, Edna Best is a far more compelling female lead than Doris Day. Part of that is because Best just has a lot more to do. Her character makes Day’s seem like a cardboard cutout in comparison. Best’s character is tougher and much more interesting. And she doesn’t sing the same song over and over again either.

The film’s strongest point is easily the performance of Peter Lorre. Getting a chance to watch him play a menacing villain is always a treat, and he delivers in his trademark cold manner. Lorre could have carried a lesser film, but with a witty and fast paced story alongside him, it adds up to an underappreciated Hitchcock gem.

The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967)

Few filmmakers, if any, can make a musical as entertaining as Jacques Demy. It’s debatable whether this film is better than The Umbrellas of Cherboug, one thing is for certain: this film is about as fun as it gets.

Visually, Demy uses color to create something that is almost unfathomably gorgeous. Practically every outfit worn in the film pops right off the screen with bright colors. The set pieces compliment the beauty of the outfits well, creating visuals that would be just as stunning as still life. On top of all that, the numbers have such a fun and elegance to them as well. And it goes without saying that Catherine Deneuve and Francoise Dorléac add a whole lot of fun to the mix. The Young Girls of Rochefort is a cure for any bad mood.

American Graffiti (1973)

Every film fan has their blind spots: time periods or genres they just haven’t watched much of. For as heavily I binge on everything 1930s or older, my knowledge of films from decades after is much worse. I’ve seen so few 70s films that admitting to some I haven’t watched would cause my classic film fan credentials to be revoked.

This year, seeing American Graffiti finally got remedied. Any piece of nostalgia is right in my wheelhouse, so this film was an enjoyable time machine. There’s something universal and poignant about coming of age films, no matter what time period they take place in. A strong period piece with a killer young cast of future stars, American Graffiti proved to be a real treat.

Boogie Nights (1997)

The same could also be said about films from the 90s. Boogie Nights is yet another period piece, this one to the 1970s and the porn industry. It turkey is an all immersive experience. From the look to the tremendous soundtrack, it truly is an engrossing experience to a different time. The stellar cast list stretches on seemingly forever. Mark Wahlberg, Julianne Moore and Burt Retnolds are all superb, and and every player of the impressive supporting cast hits the right notes.

Most importantly, it proves not to really be about the porn industry at all. It’s one of those tales about life in an entertainment industry, and how it can raise someone up or drop them cold in no time. The specifics may be different, but it’s a tale that can resonate with anyone.

We’re right in the middle of the holiday season, and that means there’s a lot of holiday films around to consume. Most importantly, you’re probably trying to avoid the endless barage of carbon copy Hallmark films, along with arguments about if Die Hard counts as a Christmas film (it doesn’t). There are a lot of true holiday classics out there, including gems that get people watching old films. There’s a lot more out there than just White Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street and It’s a Wonderful Life, though. If you’re looking for holiday films that are off the beaten path over the next couple weeks, here’s a few selections to tear people away from whatever shameful Christmas film Ed Asner is in this year:

I’ll Be Seeing You (1944)

A fair warning: enjoyment of I’ll Be Seeing You depends heavily on how much sentimentality and melodrama one can take. The plot itself is a rather old and common one, including one that comes up later on in this list. Two people (Ginger Rogers and Joseph Cotten) are both only away from their confined spaces for a short time: Cotten is on leave from a military hospital, while Rogers is due back in prison in a short amount of time. When they meet, neither can bring themselves to tell the other the horrible truth. Instead, they separately decide to have a good Christmas together by keeping their secrets private.﻿

It’s a smaltzy story on paper, and is even more of a sentimental tearjerker in execution. And that’s precisely what makes it so much fun. I’ll Be Seeing You is more of an emotional rollercoaster than most holiday films, all told with the corny and sentimental tone you’d want for a film of the season. Something a little hokey is good around the Christmas season, and I’ll Be Seeing You delivers it in such a charming way.

Christmas in Connecticut (1945)

Okay, so this film isn’t that unknown. It’s on TCM every December and is a popular holiday DVD release. And yet, Christmas in Connecticut still doesn’t seem to get the recognition it deserves as one of the greatest Christmas films of all time. Watching it, it’s easy to wonder how it doesn’t get played more during the season, getting as much praise an airtime as the other films of the period. Christmas in Connecticut brings with it that hallmark of the period: the screwball comedy. Few things can bring more comedy than wacky misunderstandings and cockamamie schemes falling part. Throw in a Christmas setting, and you’ve got a great set up for a film.

But what really makes the film work is the incredible cast. Barbara Stanwyck plays a phony food columnist, forced to serve up Christmas meals she can’t prepare for a war hero (Dennis Morgan) at the behest of her publisher (Sydney Greenstreet). Stanwyck is perfect in the middle of the madcap hurricane, doing things like failing to cook and trying to change her (fake) baby. Greenstreet plays the perpetually befuddled man well, and the supporting cast is rounded out with the always amusing character actor SZ Sakall. As the bound to get together couple, Morgan and Stanwyck have a chemistry that is at times adorable and other times downright sultry. With this cast and plenty of hijinx, Christmas in Connecticut brings an incredible amount of fun.

Beyond Tomorrow (1940)

Beyond Tomorrow also can be classified as sentimental, but it does have something you’re not likely to see elsewhere: a couple of unique plot elements. It opens with three rich older men thinking of a way to have some company on Christmas. They throw wallets onto the street, wondering who will go to the house to return them. A young man and woman arrive and hit it off. When the three men die in a plane crash, they return from beyond the grave to make sure the people they set up stay together.

Even more of a redemption tale than a Christmas film, Beyond Tomorrow does a good job of fleshing out all the major players involved. The three elder men aren’t just vehicles to bring a couple together at Christmas. They’ve done things wrong in their past, and bringing the couple together after their death serves another role of redemption. They also don’t have much time to accomplish this before they are called away from earth forever. The cast may be unassuming and it may be a somewhat minor tale, but Beyond Tomorrow has an intriguing hook and enough heart to make it well worth it.

One Way Passage (1932)

I know, I know. One Way Passage has nothing to do with Christmas. There is, though, a December holiday that fits into the film: New Year’s Eve. While almost all of the film takes place outside of New Year’s, this romance classic really does fit the bill for an end of the year film.

Without giving away spoilers, the one ending scene on New Year’s Eve couldn’t be more important or powerful. You’ll probably need some tissues handy for it. But more than just New Year’s itself, One Way Passage is about the power of love, new beginnings and endings. William Powell and Kay Francis play two star crossed lovers on a ship, both knowing their love can’t last as death soon awaits them. Neither one can tell the other that truth (there’s that plot again), and they agree to meet again on New Year’s Eve, something that just can’t happen.

Powell and Francis light up the screen and tear at the heartstrings, but the story of their beginning and ending isn’t the only one to be seen. There’s also a highly entertaining and sweet subplot that explores if a criminal and a cop can come together when love strikes them.

Simply put, One Way Passage is one of the unabashedly romantic films ever made, and perhaps one of the greatest films ever. The connection to December holidays may sound tenuous, but it’s really not. And by the time the film reaches New Year’s Eve, you’ll be plenty emotionally invested in the holiday.